Chapter 21
Chapter Twenty-One
Holly
The Thunder wins game four, and we all head back to New York for game five.
It’s a big deal because if they win, they’ll be the conference champions so he wants me to be there for it.
I wasn’t a huge hockey fan before, more interested in football, but now that I’m married to a hockey player, I’ve had to learn quickly.
Serena and Jayne have been really helpful getting me up to speed because I didn’t want Viktor to realize how little I knew.
My father-in-law has figured it out, though, so he sits next to me at the games and explains things when I get confused. Icing. Crosschecking. Off-sides—I really dislike this one. It makes no sense to me. Mr. Maslak explains it best, though.
“You know there are three different zones on the ice? The offensive, neutral, and defensive?”
“Yes.” Kind of.
“Until the puck is in offensive zone, you cannot come into this zone before the puck arrives. Until it crosses the blue line, you cannot go.”
I think about that for a second. Then I chuckle. “Thank you. That one always trips me up.”
“Takes time,” he says, gently patting my knee.
“I’m learning as fast as I can.”
“Is not race.”
My phone buzzes and I see a text from my mother, which is rare. I quickly open the app to read it.
MOM: Your father would like you and your husband to come for dinner at your convenience. If there’s a time that works best for you, please let me know so I can arrange it.
I swallow.
This is the last thing I want to do but at some point, I have to suck it up.
HOLLY: I’m in NYC for game five of the playoffs. We’ll be home tomorrow but then Viktor will be resting, getting ready for either the finals or game six. His parents are also here from Russia, so he’s spending time with them.
She doesn’t respond right away, which means she’s conferring with my father.
This can’t be good.
I watch the game while keeping an eye on my phone.
The Thunder score, and we’re all on our feet, cheering.
It’s 2-1 in the second period but I’ve learned how quickly a lead can be lost.
MOM: We would like to meet your in-laws. According to the schedule, if they lose tonight, game six will be day after tomorrow and game seven two days after that. That puts us at Monday. How about dinner on Wednesday? The finals won’t start that quickly because game one is slated for that Saturday.
Fuck.
HOLLY: I have to talk to Viktor and his parents. Can I let you know tomorrow?
MOM: Of course. And Holly, please don’t be difficult. This has been hard on your father. He always looked forward to walking you down the aisle. Giving his little girl away. You took that from him.
Oh, please.
What I took from him was a feel-good photo opportunity.
And that’s not my job, to create those for him.
However, since it’s already done, I don’t have to say that.
HOLLY: Let Viktor get through tonight and I’ll text you once we’re home.
MOM: All right. Take care, sweetheart.
Sweetheart.
She only calls me that when she wants something. In this case, it’s probably to get my father off her back, which will only happen once we capitulate to whatever he wants.
I can’t imagine my father and mother-in-law in the same room.
That’s going to be problematic.
She tolerates me, but I know she still isn’t happy that we’re married. Olga flew back to Russia yesterday, cutting her trip short, so Mrs. Maslak was extra annoyed about that.
Meanwhile, I’m trying to juggle fifty different things.
I assumed that I’d spend this time while he was busy with hockey shoring up my resume and job-hunting.
Instead, I’m playing tour guide, getting to know my in-laws, planning a trip to Egypt, and interviewing interior decorators because Viktor said that’s what all the hockey wives do when they buy their first big house.
Not to mention trying to be attentive and available to my husband.
We haven’t had sex again, still, and it’s driving me a little crazy.
We snuggle when we sleep and still touch and hold hands all the time, but he hasn’t made another move and it’s confusing.
Serena thinks he’s being a gentleman, Jayne thinks he might be playing hard to get—to force me to make the first move and show him I’m interested.
I’m leaning toward Jayne being right but it’s hard to tell.
And I don’t want to make a fool of myself by throwing myself at him.
Just because we had really good sex one time doesn’t mean he wants more. Well, he probably does, but does he want more of me or does he just want to get laid? That’s the part I’m struggling with.
Okay, that’s a lie.
I’m struggling with all of it.
A marriage in name only sounds easy.
Two million dollars to live with and be affectionate with a guy in public.
He’s nice. Handsome. Wealthy. Doesn’t pressure me for sex or anything else.
This should be easy.
Reality is totally different.
And I’m struggling because the fake marriage is starting to feel very real.
Our parents are going to have to meet before his go back to Russia.
Our friends are intertwined, even if some of them don’t know the truth.
I’m about to start decorating a house for us—and he’s giving me carte blanche with just a few things he wants, like a California King bed.
The lines between real and fake are starting to blur, and my heart is caught right smack in the middle.
I bring up dinner to Viktor that night as we’re getting ready for bed. They lost, so we have another game the day after tomorrow, but I explain my mother’s timetable.
He nods. “Yes, of course. We must do this.”
“You know you’re going to be grilled like it’s a murder investigation.”
He grins. “I am ready.”
“I’ve been getting interrogated my whole life and I don’t think I’m ready.”
“I will be okay, and you will be okay because I will be there.”
Why does he make it sound so simple?
“My father is hard. You already saw a little of that. Your mother is difficult but she loves you. She’s manipulative but it’s because she truly wants what she thinks is best for you, even if she’s wrong. My father wants what’s best for him—that’s the difference.”
“I do not understand this,” he murmurs, coming over to stand close to me. “How can your father not love you?”
“Oh, I think he does in a limited capacity. All he truly loves is power. When I was a kid, I would do anything and everything to make him notice me, be proud of me, and that rarely happened. Now that I’m an adult I see it for what it is and I’ve stopped trying.”
“My mother is good with some things. This is one of them. She will manage your father.”
“No one manages my father.”
He smiles. “You will see. I will explain to my mother. Even if she does not prefer you to be my wife, you are my wife. She will not allow disrespect because that means they also do not respect me. And she will not tolerate this.”
I frown. “I don’t want there to be animosity or to make things worse.”
“Never. You see how she is—very strong. Very opinionated. She will be prepared.”
“I hate that we’ve reached this point. That we have to manage our families. I know that’s part of why we did what we did. I just thought…”
“What did you think?”
“I guess I thought it would be easier. One year where we would be friends, focusing on our careers and goals, and then, when it ends, telling everyone that we grew apart or we rushed into marriage or whatever. Everyone would feel bad, but say it makes sense, we got married too soon. All of that. I didn’t think we’d have to work so hard.
Like this was a real marriage. Does that make sense? ”
He’s quiet a long time. I have absolutely no idea what’s going on behind his mysterious green eyes. Conflict. Worry. Confusion. But also intensity. Determination.
But determination to do what?
Not knowing is killing me but I feel like I’ve already said too much, opened up more than I planned to.
“Makes sense,” he says quietly. “But you must listen—this will not be hard. I will take care of you. Of us. Whatever has to be done that is difficult, that will be my responsibility.”
I’ve never heard him speak English so clearly.
Or seen him look at me the way he is right now.
He trails his fingers along my cheek, staring intently into my eyes.
There’s still conflict reflected in his, but now I think it’s because he doesn’t know whether to kiss me any more than I know if I want him to.
We’re standing so close I can feel the warmth emanating from his bare torso and the pull to touch him—to run my fingers over his tattoos and then lick them—is almost more than I can bear.
“Soon,” he whispers as we continue to stand there.
“Soon?” I ask in confusion.
“Yes.” That’s all he says because then he steps away and pads into the bathroom without looking back.
Leaving me more confused and conflicted than ever.